


Dances With Bees

by shiphitsthefan



Category: Supernatural
Genre: (it's a metaphor you see), (you're also welcome Betty), (you're welcome Betty), Alternate Season/Series 07, Alternate Universe - The Multiverse, Angst, Bees, Castiel and Bees, Episode: s07e23 Survival of the Fittest, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Forehead Touching, Impala Fic, Impala as character, M/M, Multiverse, Song Lyrics, Songfic, confused!dean, don't be mean to the tag wranglers Ship, loose change, mental instability!Cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-15
Updated: 2015-02-15
Packaged: 2018-03-13 00:23:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3360929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shiphitsthefan/pseuds/shiphitsthefan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is no First Blade. No Mark of Cain. No Ezekiel or Metatron or Trials or Purgatory.  There is Dean, and there is Baby, and there is Cas, and all three are worse for wear.</p>
<p>"In which Dean is not a bee, Cas is not a flower, and the image of Cas' left hand on a radio dial and a hole in the knee of his scrubs will haunt your every waking moment for eternity.  YOU'RE WELCOME."―Thank you for helping write the summary, Betty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dances With Bees

**Author's Note:**

  * For [betts](https://archiveofourown.org/users/betts/gifts).



> Yes, I'm still working on Writers' Strike. I leave no fic unfinished.
> 
> Until then, Happy Half-Priced Chocolate Day!
> 
> Please do not repost/copy/duplicate this work to other sites. That's called theft.

There are many pockets in the dark cloak of the multiverse.  Some are full of the ancient tissues and discarded mints of dead worlds.  Others are full of dreams and dust, found buttons and lost keys.

The best ones, however, are full of spare coin.

The _very_ best ones are also full of holes.

And, once in a great while, the multiverse trips over a moonbeam, the cloak jostles, and a little change falls free.

 

*** 

 

There is no First Blade. No Mark of Cain. No Ezekiel or Metatron or Trials or Purgatory.  There is Dean, and there is Baby, and there is Cas, and all three are worse for wear.

_Some more than most_ , thinks Dean as he looks over to Cas in the passenger seat.  "I want to listen to the car sing, Dean," he'd said in one of his more lucid moments, and Dean, unsure of whether they'd be coming back from the giant Dick fight or not, turned on the radio.

"Pick whatever you like," Dean had said.  "Just make yourself happy."

Now Cas sits, looking at his lap, left hand outstretched to the radio dial, turning haphazardly, right hand picking at the hem of the grubby scrubs he refused to change out of.  Dean catches snippets of music and talking heads and static.  Once in a while, as they drive down the highway toward doom, he opens his mouth to tell Cas to just pick a goddamn station.

Every time, he closes his mouth and looks back to the road.  He can't fix Cas, but he can make him happy, and right now, driving Dean out of his gourd is apparently making him happy.

Just as Dean's gotten used to never being used to the background noise, Cas finds what he was looking for.

"It will start in a few minutes," he says seriously.  "We're tuned into a bootleg station in Alaska, though."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yes."

"Well," replies Dean.  "Ain't that a thing."

"No, it's a noun."  Cas hesitates, then adds, "There may be moose listening in. We should watch what we say."

And Dean has nothing to say to that.

Cas sits quietly with his hands in his lap, watching his kneecap wiggle through a hole in his once-white pants.

"You okay?" Dean asks, though he knows that the answer is no.  No, his broken angel is zip codes away from living in OK.  There's mountains of madness between them now, broken solely by a long and winding road of lunacy.

"You're very much like a bee, Dean."

Dean grips the wheel more tightly, biting his lip when it threatens to tremble.  This isn't Castiel, all-powerful Chrysler Building of the Lord.  This isn't Cas, uncertain and uncultured part-time human.  This is a madman, and the ravings thereof.

He chances a peek over again when Cas says nothing else.  The madman certainly looks like Cas.  He shares Cas' eyes, intense and blue and soul-gazing.  He has the same perpetual no-growth stubble.  The same chapped lips that Dean always looks at a little too long―

**―** And Dean knows that it doesn't matter who Cas is, because he still loves him just the same.

"Bees don't like to talk, either."

Dean's eyes snap back to the road.  "I'm not a bee, Cas."

"But every movement they make is expressive and calculated and _says something_." He scoots over, and presses himself to Dean's side.  Dean swallows and does his utmost not to move; whether he'd push him away or pull him closer, he honestly doesn't know.

After a few minutes, Cas' head finds its way to Dean's shoulder.  "Even stillness has a sentence," he explains.

"I'm not a bee, Cas," Dean sighs, shrugging Cas off.

Cas looks back down at his lap, but doesn't move away.  Very quietly, he says, "And I'm no flower."

Dean doesn't know what to say to that, either, so he chooses to focus very intently on the asphalt ahead of them.

"Baby's going to sing us a song soon," Cas says.

Dean just nods.

"It would be ideal if you could pull over."  He quickly adds, "It's hard to sing when you're dancing.  Or leaping.  She's a gazelle, you know."

"Impala."

Cas smiles and nods.  "Of course she is, Dean."

"Ain't got time to pull over, Cas.  You know that."

"But if you could just pull over **―** "

"Cas, we have to―"

" ** _Pull.  Over.  Dean.  Winchester._** "

The air crackles and hums and pops, and Dean can no longer deny that there is, in fact, an angel in the car with him, an angel who is currently yanking the wheel as far to the right as he can.  Baby spins to a stop on the side of the road, nose pointing the wrong way, now watching where they've been.  Dean resumes breathing.

Cas puts his hands back in his lap.  "Thank you, Dean."

"Don't mention it."

"Though you should have held my hand when we crossed the road. It's safer that way."  Cas smiles, wide and pleased with himself.

"Most people don't hold hands when they spin across four lanes of highway, Cas!" Dean splutters.  "You could've gotten us―"  He blinks. _Right.  Angel._  He amends, " ―me killed!"

"Then you definitely should've been holding my hand."  Dean opens his mouth to reply, but Cas covers it with his palm.

It's warm.  Familiar.

"Let her sing, Dean."  Dean nods **―** that's familiar, too―and Cas moves his hand away.

The sound of an acoustic guitar fills the speakers.

Cas puts his left hand on Dean's thigh, palm up, open and inviting and waiting.

 

_"Dance with me_

_I want to be your partner_

_Can't you see_

_The music is just starting_

_Night is falling_

_And I am falling_

_Dance with me"_

 

"Orleans?" Dean says with a laugh, pointedly ignoring the hand, reaching over it to turn off the radio. "You spent forty-five fucking minutes looking for _Orleans_?"

Cas frowns, narrowing his eyes to a squint.  "You know bees die after they use their sting, don't you, Dean?"

Dean shakes his head and looks out his window.  "Would you stop with the crazy talk and just go ahead and say what you're wanting to **―** "

" _I'm trying to!_ "  Cas puts his hands on either side of Dean's face and pulls himself into view, nose nearly to nose.  His eyes are wide, scared, searching.  "I'm trying to," he whispers again, "but there's so much noise in here."

"In the car?"

"In my brain."  Cas closes his eyes and presses his forehead to Dean's, like it matters, like if Dean is simply in proximity with Cas' skull, he will understand him, or at least join him in his madness so he's less alone.  He waits an uncounted number of heart beats before he finally releases Dean's face, collecting himself.  "Please, just let the car sing to you, Dean."

Dean takes a deep breath.  This feels like a cliff, and they’re sitting in a car, and he’s not sure that bodes well.  He blinks at last, nods, and flips the radio back on.

 

_"I hope that you are willing_

_Pick your feet up_

_And kick your feet up_

_Dance with me"_

 

Cas offers his hand again, wiggling his fingers and clearing his throat.

"I'm not a bee, Cas," Dean finally reminds him.  "I don't dance."

Cas says nothing, but wiggles his fingers all through the interlude, and finally just stares at them pointedly as the singer jumps back in.

 

_"Let it lift you off the ground_

_Starry eyes, and love is all around us_

_I can take you where you want to go"_

 

Dean swallows, glues his eyes to his feet, and gives Cas his shaking hand.

"I'm not a flower, Dean," Cas says, lacing their fingers together.  "But I am Cas.  And you can still pick me."

Dean's mind reels with a thousand different responses as the music plays.  But when Cas puts a finger under his chin and lifts him up and out of the ball he's huddled himself into, all he can do is drown in blue and say, "Okay."

Cas grins, eyes closed, pressing their foreheads together again because, as far as he's concerned, it worked last time.

"Okay," says Cas.

Dean dances at last.

 

***

 

The multiverse dusts itself off and stands back up. It checks its pockets, and looks down to see a shiny copper in a puddle of star clusters.

It smiles, and drops a few more.

The ripples dance, too.

**Author's Note:**

> [This](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_-IXJLgRnvs) is the song Cas was looking for.
> 
> The accompanying photoset for this story can be found [here](http://shiphitsthefan.tumblr.com/post/118784732539/dances-with-bees-by-shiphitsthefan-1-4k-words). If you liked this story, I would greatly appreciate your reblogging it.
> 
> You can find me on my [tumblr](http://shiphitsthefan.tumblr.com/). I also chirp occasionally witty things on [twitter](https://twitter.com/shiphitsthefan).
> 
> Kudos and comments validate my existence. <3


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